Nerve Damage
by paperstorm
Summary: It doesn't entirely make sense for Sam to be this upset over a voicemail message. Part of my Deleted Scenes series, tag for Phantom Traveler, 1x4. Teeny bits of implied past Wincest, rating for language.


**Part of my Deleted Scenes series. Full list of fics in reading order available on my profile page :)**

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><p>"<em>This is John Winchester. I can't be reached. If this is an emergency, call my son Dean. 785-555-0179. He can help."<em>

Dean doesn't know what to say. He doesn't know what to _think_. What the hell does it mean that Dad's giving people his phone number? Is he going to start sending them on hunts? Or, rather, on _more_ hunts, since technically he already sent them on one that almost got them both turned into pulled-pork? Is he telling people to call them? Why doesn't he just call them himself and tell them what's going on? Dean's frustrated, irritated beyond description. He thought Dad cared about him more than this. They've always been close, Dean really thought his Dad had more respect for him than to do something like this. So yeah, Dean's annoyed. But Sam? Sam looks livid. Dean hasn't seen Sam look so angry for years – not since he was a teenager and him and Dad used to scream at each other. Dean glances over, as Sam's eyes fill with tears and a muscle twitches in his jaw. Then Sam slides off the trunk of the car and storms away; stomping over to the passenger's side and slamming the door behind him so hard the whole frame shakes.

Dean blows out an aggravated sigh and runs a hand through his hair. Now he's got a brother in a foul mood to deal with on top of everything else. Sam doesn't get in these kinds of bitchy moods all that often, but when he does he's damn near intolerable to be around. Perfect.

"Alright, let's hear it," he says heavily, dropping himself onto the bench seat and bracing himself on the steering wheel.

"Just drive," Sam mutters.

"C'mon, dude, I know you're mad. Just – "

"I _said_ drive!" Sam yanks his seatbelt down so roughly Dean's almost surprised it doesn't break. He clicks the buckle in place and the crosses his arms, slumping in his seat and staring out the window like a petulant little kid.

Dean rolls his eyes. "Fine. Don't have to take my head off."

Sam grumbles something unintelligible, but Dean ignores him. He knows Sam – knows he won't be able to actually maintain his silence for very long. Not when he's this angry. Dad's always been a touchy subject, even back when they were kids. This isn't the first fight they've had a fight about him and it for sure won't be the last. Sam's jaw is clenched so tight Dean can't believe his teeth haven't shattered, and his knuckles are turning white from where his fingers are digging in to his own arm. Dean guesses it'll be less than five minutes before Sam caves and starts yelling, and he's not wrong. After he pulls out onto the highway, it's been two, _maybe_ two and a half minutes of tension-thick silence before Sam lets out a frustrated snarl and slams his fist into the door.

"Damn it!" he shouts, kicking at the glove box.

"Hey!" Dean snaps, reaching over and smacking Sam's shoulder, _hard_. "Easy on the fuckin' car!"

"It's a _car_, Dean, it's not gonna break!"

"You better hope not," Dean warns. "Swear to god, you dent my baby and I will dent your _face_. It's not her fault Dad's gone!"

"For god's sake, would you stop talking about it like it can hear us? It's a _car_!" Sam rants. "It's not a _she_ because it's not a person! You're such a psycho!"

Dean glares at him. "Are you finished?"

"Oh I'm sorry, did I hurt her feelings?" Sam spits sarcastically.

"You know, I'm not the one with the fancy college education but I'm pretty sure this is what they call transference," Dean points out, doing his best to keep his voice steady even though Sam's practically throwing a tantrum right now. Dean feels like he should send him to bed without supper or something.

Sam laughs cruelly. "Really. And what's it called when a grown man has an imaginary friend?"

Dean grinds his teeth together to resist taking the bait Sam's dangling in front of him. Sam's trying to get him riled up but he's not letting himself get roped into it. "You're angry at Dad and you're taking it out on me because I'm here and he's not, and you need to knock it off."

"I hate him," Sam mumbles mutinously.

Dean rolls his eyes again. "Alright, reel it in, drama queen. You don't hate him."

"Yes I fuckin' do." Sam clenches his fist again, this time hitting himself in the thigh. "_All_ this time! We've been looking for him for a month and – god, I wanna – just – "

Whatever it is Sam wants to do, apparently he can't find the words to describe it. He sort of growls again and sighs at the same time, hitching one leg up on the seat so he can face Dean.

"I called that number less than a week ago," he chews out roughly. "I call it all the god-damn time, it's _always_ been out of service until now! That means he recorded that message some time in the last few _days_! Why are you not pissed off?"

"I am!" Dean starts, but Sam cuts him off.

"All this freakin' time!" Sam yells. "I thought he might be hurt, or lost, or – something! But he's not! He's not even in trouble! When you said he'd gone missing, I thought something had happened to him, I didn't think he'd just _left_! Obviously he's fine! He isn't _missing_, Dean, he's just hiding from us! So what the hell've we been doing for the last month?"

"Sam –"

"While he's leaving us co-ordinates and giving people your fuckin' phone number, stringing us along on some wild goose chase because he's a friggin' jerk! Do you think he knows we're hunting together again? I bet you anything he does, I bet he's been keeping tabs on us this whole time. He probably knows you had to pull me out of school for this! So we could waste our time chasing after someone who isn't gonna let us find him!" Sam huffs and sort of flails a little. "God, I always knew he was selfish, but this –"

"Okay, stop!" Dean shouts. "Just calm down for half a second, Jesus! Take a breath, you're gonna give yourself a stroke or something."

"You can't _give_ yourself a stroke!" Sam snaps in that annoying, know-it-all way of his and that is _it_. Dean cranks the wheel to the right and pulls over to the shoulder so fast the tires squeal and he leaves skid marks on the road.

"Alright, listen up you little asshole," Dean growl, ripping his seatbelt off so he can turn fully toward Sam. "I _am_ mad, okay? I get it, this sucks. But you need back off, right the fuck now. I am _not_ getting into it about Dad with you right now! I had enough of that when you were a kid. _Yes_, he's a jerk sometimes, but you know there's gotta be an explanation for this! He loves us, he wouldn't do this to us just for the hell of it!"

"So what is it?" Sam cries. "What possible explanation could he have for just taking off the way he did?"

"I don't know! But it's gotta be _something_," Dean insists. "We're gonna find him, this just another piece of the puzzle."

"Another …" Sam blinks a few times and gapes at him. "Unbelievable. This is not another piece of the puzzle! It's proof that Dad doesn't want us to find him! And you're just cool with that? God, after all these years I'd think you would've learned how to stand up for yourself by now! But you haven't, he's not even _here_ and he's still got you on a freakin' leash!"

"What the fuck is your problem? This isn't my fault, why're you attacking me!" Dean shouts, throwing his hands up in exasperation and hissing when his elbow catches the steering wheel.

"Because I want you to get angry about this!" Sam explodes. "This is bullshit, he's playing with us!"

"You don't know that! This looks bad, but we don't _know_! You've clearly still got some major beef with the man but he's your _dad_, Sammy! What Jerry said was true, Dad _was_ proud of you! You never saw it because you didn't want to but he cares about you! He wouldn't do this without a reason."

"Alright, you know what, you just go ahead and believe that if you want to," Sam grumbles, unfastening his seatbelt and practically kicking the door open.

Dean's left reeling. He stares at Sam's retreating back for a few moments and then jumps out of the car after him. "Are you going somewhere?" he asks icily.

Sam turns back and sighs. "No, I just … I need a minute, okay?"

There are tears in his eyes again and suddenly it dawns on Dean that it doesn't entirely make sense for Sam to be this upset over a voicemail message, even if it was from the man who's probably Sam's least favorite person in the world. Sam's always been more emotional than Dean has, he gets that from their Dad, but even still usually he's the more level-headed of the two of them and right now he's practically tail-spinning. Dean wants to ask, to go over there and put a hand on Sam's back, _something_, but he's not really in the mood to be yelled at any more than he already has. It wasn't exactly an easy day. Screw what Sam said; airplanes are terrifying. Then Dean remembers what the demon said.

"This is about Jessica, isn't it?" he asks quietly.

Sam glares at him, but Dean knows he's right. Sam's never been very good at lying. At least not to Dean.

"I don't wanna talk about Jessica," he mumbles, leaning against the car and crossing his legs at the ankle.

Dean exhales slowly, stepping around the car so he can stand beside Sam, mirroring his stance against the Impala. "Then I will. You're angry because you think maybe that demon knew something, right? And you're angry because you don't think Dad's actually in trouble, and if he'd never left then I'd have never come to get you from Stanford. And you wouldn't've left Jess, and she might still be alive."

Sam sort of deflates; his head falls forward and his posture goes slack. "So? It's the truth."

"No it isn't," Dean says firmly. He wishes Sam would look at him. "Sam, whatever killed her, it would've done it whether you were there or not. It probably would've killed you too if it had the chance. That's what these things _do_, they just … I know it sucks. But it isn't your fault. And it's not Dad's fault either."

Sam shrugs. "Whatever."

"Sam, c'mon," Dean groans. "You can't play the what-if game, man. It'll destroy you."

"Dean, I can't _do_ this. Please. Just get back in the car. I need some air, I'll be there in a minute."

Seeing Sam look so sad is exactly as hard as it's been since the day Sam was born. Dean remembers it; even though it's vague and fuzzy, he remembers the first time he ever saw Sam. They'd all just come home from the hospital, Mom with a tiny little lump in her arms wrapped up in a blanket. Sam was crying, Dean remembers the piercing sound of him wailing and he remembers _hating_ it – wishing he could do something to make it stop, to make Sam happy again. And it's never gotten any easier, when Sam's sad it breaks Dean's heart. He's really getting sick of trying so hard _not_ to touch Sam, so he throws an arm around his shoulders and shakes him a little.

"C'mon, you love bitching at me. Talk."

"I can't," Sam repeats, but he leans against Dean's side a little, even though it's obviously reluctant.

"I don't mean we have to cry and hug and talk about our feelings, just … I don't think it's good to keep all this shit bottled up," Dean clarifies. "And that's coming from _me_."

"A minute ago I was yelling at you," Sam points out, a hint of a smile in his voice. "I wouldn't really call that bottling shit up."

"Yeah, about Dad. I'm pretty damn used to you yelling at me about that. But whenever I mention _her_ you shut right down," Dean argues, squeezing his arm a little tighter around Sam. "You did the same thing before, when I asked about your nightmares. You changed the subject."

Sam sort of shrugs but doesn't say anything.

"Tell me about her," Dean says softly.

"About Jess? Why would you wanna hear about her?"

"Cause I care about you?"

"Yeah, I know you do, but … isn't it … weird? Because of, you know."

Dean knows. Because of _that_, that thing they don't talk about. And Sam's got a point, Dean doesn't exactly _like_ thinking about him with his girlfriend – it hurts like hell, actually, to know that Sam was so happy with someone else. To know that Sam was so _un_happy with Dean that he had to run all the way to California to find someone better. Not being enough for Sam is one thing, but to be so inadequate that Sam had actually had to … well. It stings. A lot, even all the time that's passed can't numb it completely. But he's not going to tell _Sam_ that.

"Don't flatter yourself," he jokes stiffly, cuffing Sam on the side of the head. "She was important to you, we don't have to pretend she didn't exist."

"What do you wanna know?" Sam asks straightening up so he can see Dean's face.

"I don't know, anything." Dean lets his arm slide off Sam's shoulders. "How'd you meet?"

"In, uh," Sam glances down at his shoes and chuckles. "You're gonna make fun of me. In the library."

Dean barks a laugh. "You're right, that's totally lame. Dude, you two were a match made in nerd heaven."

"Yeah." Sam's face falls a little and he sniffs and looks away. His eyebrows stitch together again, and that isn't what Dean meant to do at all.

"Shit, I'm sorry," he mutters. "I just made it worse, didn't I."

"No, you … you didn't." Sam shakes his head. "I just … I miss her. I didn't think it was gonna be this hard. That, on top of all the stuff with Dad, it's just … it's a lot, you know? I don't know where my head's at right now."

Dean nods. He really isn't sure what to say to that, to any of it. He hates feeling so helpless. "We're gonna find Dad, okay? And he's gonna have answers, everything's gonna make sense again. I promise."

Sam nods back and crosses his arms over his chest.

"Are we okay?" Dean asks uncertainly.

"Yeah, course we are," Sam assures, smiling softly up at Dean from under his bangs. "M'sorry I was such a jerk, I didn't mean the stuff I said. And m'sorry I was mean to your car."

Dean laughs and claps Sam on the shoulder. "Damn straight. That's my girl, you gotta treat her right."

Sam laughs back and shakes his head fondly. "I still say you're psychotic. I'm not takin' that back."

"Sucks for you, dude, you're stuck with me."

Sam grins. "It's not so bad. Hey listen, I … thanks. Thank you. I know I'm frustrating sometimes, but I really do appreciate you lookin' out for me."

"S'all part of my job, right? Now it's getting dangerously close to a romantic comedy up in here, so I'm gonna choose to end this nice little moment before we start lactating," Dean jokes, ruffling Sam's hair and then walking over to his side of the car. "And you're welcome, bitch."


End file.
